Ishida Dreams
by nehalenia
Summary: Ichigo Kurosaki keeps having strange dreams about Ishida. Yeah, *those* kind of dreams. But that doesn't mean he really wants to do those things to Ishida, right? Or does it? Or... what if he already is?


Ishida Dreams

Ichigo/Ishida

Disclaimer: All characters belong to Kubo Tite. This is for entertainment only and no profit is being sought or gained.

Ichigo groaned in his sleep, shifting against the lean white body he was curled around. He surfaced a little, just enough to make a satisfied sound as he tugged his companion closer, lazily stroking the warm, flat belly as he buried his nose into silky hair.

"Mmph... 'shida," he muttered, stroking his hand down a long, sleek side to the jutting angle of a hip, then around to cup the curve of that perfect little ass; that warm, sweet, inviting, perfect, _tight_ little ass. The one that made him so hard every damn time he thought about it.

Ichigo moaned as he felt himself stiffen. He shouldn't wake his companion – not in the middle of the night; not just for this -- but his swelling prick began to throb, and then to ache, and it was so close, so very close to what it needed that Ichigo thought it might explode.

"Please," he murmured into his lover's shoulder, squirming enough that his hard length lodged in the cleft of that perfect ass. "Ishida. Please." And Ishida gave a soft little moan of assent, and slid his leg over Ichigo's thigh. Ichigo immediately hooked his hand under Ishida's knee and pulled his leg up far enough that his cheeks parted, exposing his hole, and Ichigo slid his hard cock inside him in one smooth thrust, all the way to the balls.

Ishida whimpered something that sounded like 'Fuck me, Kurosaki!' and Ichigo did just that, arms wrapped around the Quincy's slim body, holding him so close, so tight, as he thrust into him. He thought he heard the other boy whisper 'harder, Kurosaki, faster' and Ichigo gave the archer just what he asked for, his hips slamming against that tight ass as he pumped his cock in and out. 'Make it last, Kurosaki,' he heard Ishida beg, but he couldn't, he was right at the peak, he was _right there_, and then he went over, groaning as he stiffened and released, still clutching Ishida as the pleasure rushed through him, and Ishida must have come too, because he was crying out. No, he was screaming. Wailing. He was....

"Fuck!" gasped Ichigo, sitting straight up in bed and staring around until he located his alarm clock. The glowing blue face said it was 6:00 AM and it was giving off its usual high-pitched wail. Ichigo slammed his hand down on it hard, silencing the annoying sound, then sighed in relief. "Stupid thing," he muttered, then scratched his head and blinked around.

The first thing he noticed was that most of him was still wrapped around his large bed-pillow, and that said pillow was now a mangled, sticky mess. He peeled it off his body and stared at it for a moment. He'd thought his pillow was Ishida? He'd fucked his pillow because he'd thought it was Ishida? _Again_? He didn't really want to believe it, but the evidence – and there was a lot of a evidence – was all over the pillow case.

"What the hell is wrong with me?" Ichigo groaned, shoving the pillow away and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He sat there, elbows on knees, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, and when he opened them, he was staring down at his mostly soft cock. "This is all your fault," Ichigo grumbled at it. "Fucker." It still looked pleased with itself – and why not? It had gotten what it wanted, hadn't it? Ichigo glared at it, then grabbed his pillow, ripped off the case, wadded it up and made to throw it in the growing pile of laundry in the corner. Then he thought of Yuzu examining the pillow case as she did the laundry, got up and stalked across his room, still cursing, and shoved it deep inside his trash can.

"Fucker," he said again, just for good measure, then started to get ready for school.

By lunch-time, Ichigo had come to the conclusion that, somehow, this was all Ishida's fault. He had been starring at the boy surreptitiously for most of the morning as Ishida took his careful notes, or raised his slim hand to answer Sensei's questions; watching both his hair and his glasses slide forward as he leaned over to read; watching his thin fingers push up his frames, tuck back his hair, turn the pages; watching his every movement but thinking about... other kinds of movements.

Ishida had done something. Used some weird-ass Quincy power like heirinkyaku or yippi kai yay or _whatever_ and wormed his way into Ichigo's brain. It was the only thing that explained why watching Ishida's shoulder blades shift under the thin cotton of his school shirt made Ichigo's face hot, or why staring at the bit of skin showing between his hair and the back of his collar made Ichigo squirm in his seat. It was the only explanation for why, when the lunch bell rang, he had to leap from his desk and make it out the door before the rest of the class could notice that he had the beginnings of a raging hard-on; one that was threatening to explode from his pants by the time he burst through the bathroom door and slammed himself into a stall.

Ichigo didn't think anyone else was in the toilet, but at that point, he didn't much care. He sighed with relief as he unfastened his pants and wrapped his hand around his hard cock, falling back heavily against the door.

"Oh, fuck yes," he murmured as he began to stroke himself, keeping his fist tight -- _tight as Ishida's ass?_ a small voice wondered – and slipping his foreskin over the sensitive head with each pull.

_Stop thinking about Ishida!_ he told himself, but that was impossible. His fist _was_ Ishida, and it was Ishida he was splitting open with every thrust, Ishida who was pushing back, wanting more, and Ishida who was making those sharp little gasps as Ichigo fucked him.

Ichigo froze, because he ihad/i heard a sharp little gasp, and as much as his prick throbbed and ached for release, he stood without moving a muscle, listening. He heard it again – a quick, muffled intake of breath – and when he listened harder, the soft but unmistakable sound of flesh sliding on flesh.

Ichigo could feel his whole face knitting into a scowl. Someone ielse/i was jerking off in ihis/i bathroom. Why in the hell couldn't the other guy have found his own deserted toilet to whack off in, Ichigo wondered bitterly, squeezing hard on the head of his prick but not quite daring to stroke himself with someone two, three stalls away. Gritting his teeth in frustration, he wondered if he could wait the other person out, when he heard another gasp, louder this time, and a chill went down Ichigo's spine. He knew that gasp, that particular catch of breath; he'd heard it before, in Sereitei, and fighting Hollows, and....

Ishida! It was _Ishida_ in the other stall, fisting his cock and breathing soft and fast and shallow. Ichigo caught his own breath at the image that came to mind – of Ishida collapsed against the stall door just like him, pants open, prick stiff, hand flying up and down. He could see it too clearly: Ishida with his head tipped back, mouth open, his other hand down the back of his pants, skilled fingers pressing in, going deeper, all the while imagining it was Ichigo's cock opening him, stretching him, fucking him.

Ichigo couldn't stand it any longer. His cock was so hard it actually hurt, and when he heard the soft seizure of breath from the other stall, heard the muffled thump of a head thrown back against a flimsy door, he came with a single pull, imagining it was Ishida's ass he was shooting into, and Ishida's cock that was spilling all over his fist. His climax staggered him – he didn't know if he'd ever come so hard before – and he had to sit down on the toilet to recover. He vaguely heard the creak of a stall door opening, footsteps, then a tap turned on. Ichigo leaned carefully forward and peered through the narrow space between the wall and the door. Something in his chest turned over when he saw that it _was_ Ishida, now leaning over a sink, vigorously soaping his hands. Ichigo watched as the other boy rinsed, shut off the tap, shook off his hands then rubbed them over his face. Ishida blinked in the mirror, frowned, pushed up his glasses, then dried his hands and left, pausing at the door to see who was in the hallway before slipping out, as if he didn't want anyone to see.

Finally able to breathe freely, Ichigo slumped back with a heavy groan. He frowned when he realized his hand was still gripping his softening cock, and he yanked off two handfuls of toilet paper to wipe himself – and the wall; and the tile floor -- clean. He was still thinking of Ishida when he zipped up and shouldered out of the stall. He washed up at the same sink Ishida had used, frowning at himself the same way Ishida had. This thing with Ishida – first the dreams, and now ithis/i -- was more fucked up than he thought it could be.

There was only one thing for it. He had to talk to Ishida.

"Why have you been staring at me?"

This was why Ichigo never planned things. Because nothing ever went according to his plan. His plan to waylay Ishida after school was only the latest casualty, being upset by the fact that Ishida had obviously – and successfully – planned to waylay him first.

"I haven't been staring at you!" Ichigo lied automatically, thrown off balance by Ishida's attack and trying to regain his mental footing. He had meant to approach Ishida right after class, but the Quincy had vanished. Ichigo had looked for him – in the library, in the room where the craft club met, even on the roof where they had lunch – but finally admitted defeat and headed home; only to walk right past the irritating little shit on the way to the clinic. Ichigo scowled at Ishida, who was leaning against a tree beside the walkway. "How would you know I've been staring at you?"

"So you admit it, then?" Ishida said, crossing his arms and lifting one eyebrow. The sunlight glinted off his glasses, hiding his eyes, and Ichigo wondered how somebody so skinny could seem so intimidating.

"No," Ichigo growled. "Why the hell would you think I was staring at you? What, do you have some weird Quincy eyes in the back of your head or something?"

"Yes," Ishida deadpanned. When Ichigo just stared at him, he frowned and pulled his arms tighter against his chest. "Your reiatsu, dumbass. I can feel it."

"What are you talking about?" Ichigo said, nonplussed.

"Your reiatsu, Kurosaki," Ishida repeated sharply. "I can feel it whenever you're looking at me! Like it's touching me. Like..." Ishida trailed off uncomfortably and looked away.

"Like what?" Ichigo wanted to know.

Ishida opened his mouth to respond, then stopped. He had a peculiar look in his eyes, and a flush rose swiftly across his cheeks. "Why should I tell you?" Ishida said at last. "It's _your _reiatsu doing it!"

"Doing _what_, Ishida?" Ichigo demanded. Despite his irritation, he was finding the Quincy's blushing strangely attractive and shifted uncomfortably.

"You know very well what it's doing!" Ishida's face was now bright red, his hands fisted at his side.

"No I don't!" Ichigo yelled back. "You know I can't sense reiatsu! You're the one always going on about me not controlling it! How the hell would I know what it's doing to you?" Ichigo paused to catch his breath, then narrowed his eyes at Ishida. The other boy was breathing hard, fists clenched, shoulders tight, biting his lip, and when Ichigo looked – really looked – there was something in the dark blue eyes behind the glasses that Ichigo hadn't seen before. He thought it might be fear. "Wait a minute. Just what iis/i my reiatsu doing to you?"

"How can you not...." Ishida stopped in mid-sentence, staring at Ichigo, and as suddenly as it had risen, the color drained from his face. "I have to go," he said in an odd voice, then caught hold of his book bag and pushed past Ichigo, walking away as fast as possible without actually running. Ichigo gaped after him, momentarily stunned and not quite processing that Ishida had simply left. In the middle of an argument. With him. Just... left.

"What the fuck!" Ichigo yelled when he found his voice. "Where are you going? You can't just walk away like that!" But Ishida was doing exactly that, not even looking around when Ichigo called, and with a growl, Ichigo charged after him. "Hey, dumbass!" Ichigo said when he caught up with him. "Look at me."

"I've got nothing to say to you, Kurosaki." Ishida kept walking, eyes forward, jaw set, as if Ichigo wasn't even there.

"Well, it sure sounded like you did a minute ago," Ichigo snorted. "What the hell, Ishida? You tell me you think my reiatsu is doing something to you, and then you won't say what."

"Leave me alone, Shinigami," Ishida said in that cold, distant, I'm-so-much-better-than-you voice of his; the one that always made Ichigo want to punch him in the face.

"No!" Ichigo growled, grabbing Ishida's shoulder and yanking the boy around to face him. "Tell me!"

"We are inot/i having this conversation," Ishida snapped, his cheeks beginning to redden once again.

"Yeah, we are!" Ichigo insisted.

"No," Ishida spit, snatching Ichigo's hand off his shoulder, "we're not!" And before Ichigo could fully open his mouth to retort, he caught the glint of silver at the Quincy's wrist, and Ishida was gone. Vanished. Ichigo stared at the space where Ishida had been just a moment before.

"That... bastard!" The Quincy had done that weird crazy curtain leg thing that he did, knowing full well that Ichigo couldn't use shunpo to follow him in his mortal form. "... the fuck," Ichigo muttered. This thing with Ishida was getting weirder and weirder; not to mention more irritating.

"This isn't over, Ishida," he muttered, then jammed his hands in his pockets and turned his steps toward home.

Ichigo leaned beside the window sill, enjoying the evening breeze as he listened to the water run in Ishida's shower. It had been going since he had flash-stepped through Ishida's open window over twenty minutes before, and he was beginning to wonder if the Quincy was ever coming out.

"What the fuck are you doing in there, Ishida?" Ichigo muttered, then smirked as he mentally answered his own question. He certainly knew what ihe'd/i be doing, and the thought of Ishida, naked, wet and stroking his cock made his groin tighten and his mouth go dry. His brain conjured the idea of surprising Ishida by joining him – unannounced and uninvited – and helping the process along, but he slapped that down and shook his head. Even ihe/i knew that was a Bad Idea, and he figured Ishida had enough surprises in store for the evening; namely when he walked out of the shower and found a Shinigami in his bedroom.

Finally, Ichigo heard the pipes creak as the water turned off, and the slippery squeak as Ishida left the tub. He listened to the muffled sounds of Ishida puttering at his sink, and pictured him doing the same things Ichigo had done earlier – towel-drying his hair, brushing his teeth; simple, familiar things. While he listened, he pulled his izanpakutou/i off his back and considered what to do with it. Normally he just stuck the blade into the ground – dirt, pavement, it didn't seem to matter – but he doubted Ishida would appreciate that sort of damage to his flat. He rolled his eyes, imagining what the Quincy would have to say about that, and laid the big sword carefully on the floor.

There had been a thin edge of sunset remaining on the horizon when Ichigo had left his body lying in bed and taken his Shinigami form to Ishida's. Now the sky outside the window was totally dark, and only the blue glow from the mercury street-lights and Ishida's small bedside lamp gave any light to the room. Ichigo leaned back in the shadows, waiting, and when the bathroom door opened and Ishida stepped out, he said nothing.

Ishida wore only a towel wrapped around his waist, and if Ichigo had had any doubts about his attraction to the Quincy, the way his cock throbbed at the mere sight of that slender, damp and mostly-naked body would have sent them scurrying. Apparently unaware of Ichigo's presence, Ishida crossed over to a small set of drawers and pulled out a pair of pajamas. Ichigo had always thought of the archer as skinny, and maybe even a bit fragile, but there was sleek, hard muscle on that thin frame, and he felt his face grow hot as he watched the play of tendon and muscle in Ishida's back. Ichigo felt a sharp surge of arousal as Ishida started to pull off his towel, but just as his fingers went to the knot, he froze.

"You can feel it now, can't you?" Ichigo asked quietly from the shadows. Ishida whirled around with a sharp hiss of surprise, eyes wide behind his glasses, clutching at his loosened towel.

"Kurosaki!" Ishida's look of shock was rapidly replaced by one of annoyance. "What do you think you're doing here! What do you mean, breaking in like this? You Shinigami..."

"I didn't break in!" Ichigo said, stepping out of the shadows. "Your window was wide open."

"That's not an invitation!" Ishida snapped, pulling his towel more tightly around him and glaring at Ichigo. "What the hell do you want, anyway?"

"I want to finish the conversation that iyou/i started."

"I told you I had nothing to say you, Kurosaki," Ishida said through gritted teeth, "and I still don't. Now why don't you leave the same way you came?"

"Haven't come yet, have I?" Ichigo snorted, enjoying the look of panic that flooded the Quincy's face until he saw him twitch a slim wrist and caught the flash of silver. "Oh no you don't!" Ichigo leaped forward, grabbing Ishida by the arms and slamming him against the wall before he could use his Quincy powers to vanish once again. "You're not getting away this time."

"Get away?" Ishida snarled, twisting in Ichigo's grip. "This is _my_ apartment, Kurosaki! I am not the one who's going to be leaving it!"

"Well I'm not leaving either!" Ichigo snapped. "Not until I get some answers." Both of them were breathing hard, teeth bared, glaring into each others' eyes. Ichigo's heart felt like it was hammering in his throat, and the throbbing in his groin was almost as bad. Being this close to Ishida – feeling his breath on his face, touching his bare skin – made him almost dizzy. Despite his harsh expression, Ishida was almost trembling in his grip, and Ichigo didn't think it was because he was cold.

"You told me my reiatsu was doing something to you," Ichigo said. "You want to tell me what?"

"Not particularly. Go home, Shinigami."

"No." Ichigo leaned closer. Ishida turned his head away, and Ichigo saw his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed. "You were scared today. I want to know why."

"I wasn't scared!" Ishida scoffed, his gaze snapping back.

"Then why'd you run away?"

"I didn't 'run away'! I just didn't want to talk to you any longer. And I still don't!"

"Fine," said Ichigo. "Then I'll talk."

"Oh wonderful," Ishida grunted, rolling his eyes.

"You're the one who won't tell me what's going on, dumbass," Ichigo growled. "So I'll just have to guess, won't I?" He leaned in until he was almost nose to nose with Ishida, and the Quincy couldn't look away. "I think you _are_ scared, Ishida. I think you're scared because maybe you ilike/i what my reiatsu is doing to you."

"Kurosaki..." Ishida said in a warning tone, his eyes flashing.

"You don't want to like it," Ichigo continued. "But you do." Ishida was blushing now, and Ichigo found it just as attractive as he had before. He moistened his lips before he went on. "Want to know what I think it's doing to you?"

"No," Ishida groaned, then gasped as Ichigo took him by his shoulders and flipped him around. He pressed Ishida's hands against the wall above his head and held them there with one hand.

"I think," Ichigo said hoarsely, breathing against the back of Ishida's neck and watching him shiver in response, "that my reiatsu is getting into your dreams. I think it curls up behind you when you sleep and... does things to you." Ishida shuddered again. He made a small sound that might have been a whimper and let his head fall forward against the wall.

"Kurosaki." It was no longer a threat, but a plea.

"Things like this," Ichigo said, and he trailed his free hand up Ishida's side. Goose bumps followed in the wake of his fingers, and he heard the archer catch his breath; the same small gasp he'd heard earlier that day. He could feel his cock stretching, filling, and he had to bite back a groan when he brushed his fingers over Ishida's nipple and felt it harden at his touch.

"Ishida," he whispered, sliding his hand back down to tug at the towel around his waist.

"Don't!" Ishida gasped, tensing up. "Please... don't!"

Ichigo ignored him, pulling the towel loose and letting it fall to the floor. His mouth went dry as his eyes travelled down the pale length of Ishida's body to the curve of his ass. His hand followed his eyes, sliding over smooth skin, cupping a firm cheek. Ishida's ass was just as pert and perfect as he'd dreamed it would be, and his cock went hard as granite at the thought that it would be just as tight.

"Fuck, Ishida!" Ichigo pressed against him, sucking in his breath when the archer's rear fit perfectly in his lap. He ran his hand over Ishida's flat stomach, and both boys hissed when his fingers met Ishida's cock, already stiff and straining against his belly.

"Kurosaki, don't...." Ishida choked, but it trailed off into a moan as Ichigo wrapped his hand around the hot, hard shaft, and pressed his nose and lips into the Quincy's damp hair. Ishida smelled like soap and musk and coconut shampoo, and Ichigo groaned softly against his neck and licked droplets of water off his shoulder as he began to stroke.

This was better than any dream – the feel of Ishida's smooth skin, the scent of his hair, the taste of his shoulder, the way his breath stuttered as Ichigo worked his rigid cock. He'd thought it was just a crazy hormonal urge, something weird and stupid his prick had thought up, but now that he'd actually touched Ishida, Ichigo didn't know if he'd ever want to stop.

"That's what made you so hard at school today, right?" Ichigo guessed, palming the head of Ishida's leaking cock and ignoring his whimpered protests. "So hard you had to whack off in the boy's room?"

"You—hypocrite!" the Quincy panted. "You were—doing it—too!"

Ichigo paused. "You knew I was there?"

"Bastard!" Ishida panted. "Your fucking reiatsu—molesting me all morning! Of course I knew. I couldn't _not_ know."

"Shit. You mean every time I... looked at you? Thought about you?"

"Yes," Ishida moaned.

"Fuck," Ichigo groaned, his head reeling at the idea of Ishida, sitting in class, reading, answering questions, all while trying to ignore his reiatsu licking and stroking and penetrating and making him just as crazy as he was making Ichigo. "Oh fuck," he said again, hugging Ishida to him and grinding his erection into Ishida's ass. "I can't stand it anymore, Ishida. I want you! Want to get inside you!"

"Kurosaki...." Ishida's voice sounded strange, and Ichigo couldn't tell whether it was a protest, a warning or a surrender.

"Please, Ishida," Ichigo gasped, rocking against him, squeezing his cock, petting his balls, nipping at his back. "C'mon, tell me you want it, please say yes!"

Ishida tensed in his arms and made a sound as if something inside him was breaking. "Fuck you..." the Quincy grated out breathlessly.

"Okay, don't say yes!" Ichigo said, panicking and holding Ishida tighter. "You don't have to say yes, you don't have to say you want it. Just... don't say no. Okay? Just don't say no. Please." He paused, just holding Ishida and breathing hard, waiting. He felt Ishida take a breath, heard him let it out.

Ishida didn't say no.

"Oh hell yes!" He let go of Ishida, planted an impulsive kiss right between his shoulder blades, then stepped back.

Ishida lifted his head a little. "Kurosaki?"

"Stay right there! Stay just like that!" Ichigo begged him, and was too busy kicking off his sandals, toeing off his socks and loosening his hakama to wonder at the fact that Ishida had actually obeyed him. He struggled out of his clothing in record time, pitching the pieces haphazardly out of his way, entirely focused on Ishida's pale and perfect ass. His prick was so swollen that the head had turned nearly purple, and when he sank his fingers into Ishida's hips and pulled him back, pressing his feverish cock against cool flesh, he groaned in relief while Ishida hissed as if he'd been burned.

"Shit!" Ishida panted, writhing against Ichigo, naked flesh pressed to naked flesh. Ichigo shifted his hips and his hard length lodged right in the cleft of Ishida's ass, and both boys groaned and nearly staggered at the intensity of that feeling. "Fucking hell, Kurosaki," Ishida hissed, bracing against the wall. "That feels..."

"Fuck!" Ichigo whimpered, rocking his hips against Ishida's rump, prick sliding in his cleft. "Damn it, Ishida! I want in you. Now!"

Ishida didn't seem capable of speech at that moment, but only whined and thrust back so hard that they both lost their balance. Ichigo stumbled back until his legs met the bed and he crashed backwards, dragging a yelping Ishida with him. They struggled against each other momentarily, both trying to regain their balance, but Ichigo kept hold of Ishida until they were both mostly on the bed, and Ichigo was curled around the Quincy, just like in his dreams.

"Ishida," he moaned, running his hands over the other boy's chest and side, stomach and thighs, licking the back of his neck as he shifted his hips, his hard cock desperately seeking Ishida's entrance. Almost, _almost_, so fucking close, _there_!

"Wait!" Ishida squawked, stiffening up when the head of Ichigo's prick nudged his hole and tried to push in.

"Huh?" Ichigo lifted his head, confused and a little put-out when Ishida pulled away from him, flailing an arm out over the edge of his bed. "What the..."

"Here!" Ishida pried one of Ichigo's hands off and slapped a foil tube in his palm.

"What's this?"

"Lubricant, you idiot," Ishida growled. "Use it! It's the only way you're getting your cock inside me."

"Oh hell," Ichigo grumbled, trying to open the tube one-handed. It felt like every drop of his blood had run to his cock, and all he could think about was pushing it into Ishida's ass. "Didn't need this in the dreams."

"That isn't your reiatsu poking me in the butt, Kurosaki," Ishida snapped, rearing up enough to glare over his shoulder. "That's your cock, and in case you haven't noticed, it's freaking huge! Use lots." Ichigo blushed fiercely, but his prick twitched at the compliment. He squeezed out a handful of the clear, slippery lubricant.

"Now what?"

"Oh for fuck's sake," Ishida muttered. "Put it inside me, you idiot!"

"You weren't nearly this mouthy in my dreams, you know," Ichigo said darkly. It sounded like Ishida had something to say about that, but when Ichigo slid his slick fingers into Ishida's cleft, rubbed that tight ring of muscle and pushed one finger in, the archer just gasped.

"Oh fuck, Ishida," Ichigo whispered. It was hot, hotter than he had ever imagined, and soft, and tight. "Fuck. That feels...."

"Another," Ishida panted, clutching the bed covers and moving a little against Ichigo's hand. "Try another. Oh!"

Ichigo pulled out and worked two of his long, raw-knuckled fingers into Ishida's hole, biting his lip as Ishida clenched around him. He twisted his fingers slowly – _like turning a key, opening him up_ -- prying sounds out of Ishida that made his stomach muscles jump and his cock leak and twitch. Ichigo's balls felt like they were about to explode, and he thrust his fingers in hard as he growled in frustration. Ishida arched back against him, cursing as Ichigo pumped his fingers in and out, desperation making him impatient.

"Ah—shit, Kurosaki! Slow—slow—please!"

"Fucking hell, Ishida, I'm gonna _die_ if I can't fuck you! Please...."

Ishida's slim hand reached back and clamped hard on Ichigo's wrist, stopping its motion. Both of them were breathing heavily but made no other sound, until Ishida squeezed Ichigo's wrist, and spoke in a rough whisper.

"Do it, then," he panted softly. "Fuck me."

Ichigo didn't need to be told twice. With a whimper of anticipation, he slicked his cock, lined himself up, grabbed Ishida's hip and pushed in. He stopped halfway, not just because Ishida gasped and went rigid under his hands, but because his head was spinning, his blood was pounding and he was sure he was going to faint dead away. Thrusting into Ishida felt better than anything, even his dreams-- hotter, tighter, wilder – and he couldn't tell the throbbing in his cock from the way Ishida's ass throbbed around him. If there was some place beyond Soul Society – really some place like Nirvana or Heaven or Paradise – Ichigo was certain it felt just like this.

"Oh fuck," he breathed, pressing his face into Ishida's back and digging his fingers into his lean thigh. "Oh fuck—too much!"

"Damn it, Kurosaki!" Ishida's voice was tight, almost strangled, and Ichigo could feel him taut and waiting. "Come on—do it!"

With a groan, Ichigo wrapped both arms around Ishida's waist, bit down on a shoulder blade and thrust hard, sheathing himself to the hilt in Ishida's clutching heat. Ishida moaned and shuddered against him, and Ichigo rode out his trembling like little earthquakes, holding tight because it felt like the ground was falling to pieces under him. He waited until Ishida's breath had stilled to soft panting and his body to faint quivering, then with a harsh breath, Ichigo pulled half way out, and stabbed back in, hard. Both of them made small, choked sounds at that, and Ishida's fingers dug into his arms as Ichigo started thrusting in earnest, each stroke gaining speed and strength. On the fifth stroke, Ichigo rocked his hips and pierced Ishida at a different angle, and the Quincy cried out and nearly struck Ichigo's face when his head flew back.

"All right?" Ichigo grunted, driving in at the same angle.

"Again," was all Ishida could gasp. "Oh—oh fuck, Kurosaki! Do that again!"

Ichigo wasn't entirely sure what he was doing, but whatever it was his prick was hitting inside of Ishida was making the Quincy clutch the sheets and clench and squirm as if he couldn't get enough of Ichigo's cock inside him. Ishida's muscles were gripping Ichigo so hard that it would have hurt like hell if it hadn't felt so damn good.

"So fucking—tight!" Ichigo gasped, slamming into him harder, faster. "So hot—oh fuck, Ishida!"

It was crazy. He was inside Ishida, he was _fucking _Ishida, and it was just like an earthquake, because he knew nothing was ever going to be the same again. Everything inside him was shaking on its foundation as he pounded into Ishida, and it was so good that he knew it couldn't last and he never wanted it to stop.

"Kurosaki—please!" Ichigo didn't understand what the Quincy was begging for – barely even heard his voice through his haze of pleasure -- until Ishida grabbed one of his hands and pushed it down and his fingers connected with the Quincy's swollen, dripping cock. He latched onto it with a growl and started pumping it in time with his thrusts, drawing out wire-thin moans and whimpers from Ishida's throat.

"Come on," he heard himself hissing against Ishida's neck, stroking faster as he felt little pulses of pre-come slicking his fingers, felt Ishida's balls tightening and the boy pressing back against him. "Wanna feel you come with me." Ichigo could hear him moaning, feel Ishida practically vibrating against him, and he was so close to coming himself that it felt like the two of them were teetering together on the brink of something unknown, and whichever of them fell was bound to pull the other with him.

Ishida went first, arching back with a strangled groan, every muscle tensing so hard that Ichigo's vision greyed out at the edges until the warm flood of Ishida's climax poured out over Ichigo's fingers and triggered his own release. He slammed into Ishida one last time as it swept through him, a surge of electric pleasure that blanked his mind to everything but the feel of his cock spilling gloriously into the other boy's heat, and he hissed Ishida's name as the two of them slumped together in a sticky, trembling heap.

Ichigo was the first one to move, sighing as his softening cock slipped out of Ishida. He reared up on an elbow to peer down at his companion. Ishida's eyes were closed, long black lashes resting on cheeks still flushed with pleasure, but his breathing told Ichigo he wasn't asleep. He ran his hand down Ishida's side – a firm, almost proprietary touch – and slid a finger into his cleft, rubbing lightly at Ishida's hole, which felt moist and hot and tender. Ishida jerked at the touch, then rolled toward Ichigo and opened his eyes.

"Kurosaki, what are you doing?" He sounded more weary than annoyed. Ichigo withdrew his finger, frowning when he realized that some of the wetness was blood.

"You're hurt," Ichigo said softly. "I hurt you."

"It's not that bad," Ishida shrugged, looking away. "Just a little sore."

"But you're bleeding!"

"It will be fine," Ishida sighed. "It happens. Don't worry about it."

"What do you mean 'it happens'?" Ichigo asked, feeling suddenly cold. "You mean—do you mean it's happened before? With..." He tried to say 'with someone else' but he couldn't make himself do it, and that surprised him.

"No!" snapped Ishida. "It hasn't happened before. I just know it can."

"How?" Ichigo demanded.

"Ever heard of books, Kurosaki? There are whole shops devoted solely to these mysterious objects. You can find them on any subject. Even sex."

"You're not cute, you know."

"I wasn't trying to be," Ishida rolled his eyes. He pushed Ichigo away and sat up gingerly, looking around. When he spotted his towel, he got up carefully and retrieved it. Ichigo was mildly surprised when Ishida sat back down and handed it to him first. He looked at the towel, then back at Ishida.

"What?" the archer frowned, right before Ichigo pushed him firmly back into the pillows and kept him there with a hand on his chest while he cleaned off Ishida's stomach, and swiped the still-damp towel gently over his slack cock and balls.

"Lift up," Ichigo directed him. Ishida complied with a suspicious look, elevating his rear end as Ichigo folded the towel into a square and laid it under him. "There. No wet spot now, right?"

"Why are you being so solicitous?" Ishida wanted to know, peering at Ichigo as if expecting further strange behaviour.

"Solici—what?"

"Nice, Kurosaki. Why are you being so _nice_."

Ichigo's brows knit together in the start of his familiar scowl, but before it could fully materialize, he crawled over Ishida until they were nose to nose, with Ishida pressing back into the pillows as far as he could, and then kissed him. It wasn't fervent, or forceful, or even demanding, but it was a firm, insistent kiss, and it didn't end until Ichigo pulled back and slowly released Ishida's lips. Ishida eyed the young Shinigami crouched over him and ran his tongue speculatively over his now-swollen lower lip.

"Why...."

"Because I want to," Ichigo answered softly, then leaned forward and kissed him again. When he pulled back this time, Ishida had sunk deeper into the pillows and was looking back at Ichigo with heavy-lidded eyes. Ichigo felt a stirring in his groin at that, and eased himself down on top of Ishida, slipping one leg between Ishida's thighs and pressing their re-awakening cocks together. "Ishida," he whispered. "My reiatsu. Can you feel it now?"

Ishida considered Ichigo for a moment, then slowly shook his head. "No," he answered softly. "I can only feel you. Just you."

"Good," Ichigo said, leaning forward to take Ishida's shoulders and press their mouths together once more. "That's good, right? This is good."

"Yes," Ishida sighed, closing his eyes, shifting his hips and wrapping one leg around Ichigo's waist. "Yes, this is good."

FIN


End file.
